


There Are No Endings

by ShadowMeld



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowMeld/pseuds/ShadowMeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her destiny fulfilled, the Dragonborn believes her work is at an end.  But it's not long before she's feeling restless and sets out once more only to find out that killing Alduin was just the beginning. Old enemies turn allies and friends become rivals as the Dovahkiin discovers that even dragons can be redeemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a Skyrimkink prompt that asked for a bad guy killed by the Dovahkiin to mysteriously survive and go on a redemption quest.

Everything hurt. Every inch ached with a weariness that was bone deep. The brilliant halls of Sovngarde, with their endless casks of mead and verdant fields just did not seem nearly as sweet after she’d bathed in the blood of a being thousands of years old. Her defeat of Alduin had come at a heavy price for all, and Paarthurnax’s mournful congratulations had not helped the anticlimax. So she had fulfilled her destiny, and after the brief triumph grew pale she just wanted to sleep. 

Whiterun was her first home, not nearly as flashy as Vlindrel or grand as Proudspire, but the small home was well lived in and its convenient location had made it a reluctant favorite. Her legs ached from walking, but after the fifth horse she’d lost the Dragonborn had finally decided to stop wasting her money on a beast she’d get needlessly attached to only to watch It die in another horrible accident. And so, she walked, and walked, all the way to her destiny and now to bed. She brushed off Lydia’s bother and grumble, stripping out of heavy armor to curl into the furs with every intention to sleep forever. 

In reality it was quite a few hours, but eventually hunger drove her from the sheets and the Dragonborn spent the first morning in a long time having a normal breakfast. She wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere with a dragon shouting overhead, or being swarmed by foresworn while she crouched over a tiny fire trying to cook a too skinny rabbit. No, she was at a proper pot, making dinner that she ate at an actual table. In short: it was divine. She ate hearty and finally simply took a break from quests and errands and all of the lot. 

Her days progressed like this for a year. She stayed at home, bartered away the loot that had been accumulating from her various adventures, things she had not had a chance to sell. Of course she kept some of the most striking artifacts, or those she felt were too dangerous or powerful for any hand but hers. In particular she liked to keep the Sanguine Rose above her bed. It was beautiful, and as well she rather liked the company of the dremora it summoned. He had aided her well in battle when she needed some of the heat off her. Plus, he was one of Sanguine’s lot. Needless to say, he made an excellent drinking companion, much more even tempered than many of the other Valkynaz and Caitiff she’d had the misfortune to apparently encounter during their time of the month. 

Still, despite her trading, and long nights relaxing in front of the fire, all the peace and quiet was beginning to wear on her. She’d even left town to wander the roads for a while, bought a horse and it was still alive a week out. There had hardly been any dragon attacks since. It had to be twisted of her, but she couldn’t help but miss the shadow of wings blocking out the sun, making her heart rattle in her chest as she knew a fight was afoot. 

Now, she’d nary been ambushed by bandits. Though perhaps it had finally gotten out to a few of them that she was the Dragonborn. Honestly, she’d been rather incredulous the first time a robber had accosted her on the road, apparently in no way dissuaded by her dragonscale armor or the bow strapped to her back that looked straight from Oblivion. Of course, he’d learned the error of his ways rather quick, but now she found she rather missed the harassment of such willful idiots.

\----

Eventually the quiet of the domestic life simply grew too old for the Dovahkiin and at last she decided to really set out again. The first person… well, not person, dragon morelike that she visited was Paarthurnax. With the marked decrease in dragon attacks, she found herself missing the presence of other Dov. 

It seemed ridiculous, being that she wasn’t even a real dragon, and she’d killed plenty in her time, but there it was. The Greybeards were old and stuck in their ways, and put simply none of the lot were real good conversation. Paarthurnax tended to drag, but at least he usually was pleased to see her. And far more serene than herself, it would seem. 

The old Dove was perched as always at the Throat of the World, lingering on the ragged word wall that squatted forlornly at the top. She’d had little trouble with the wolves on the way up, but it’d been nice to wet her blade again. She cleared her throat to make sure she was announced and Paarthurnax turned to acknowledge her arrival. 

“Greetings Dovahkiin. What brings you back to visit an Old Dov? From what I recall our early meetings you seemed quite…. _Aam_ … impatient with our speaking.”

Color lit the human’s cheeks as she looked off a bit at the faded writing on the wall he stood on. “I─I was hardly that impatient. But yes, I suppose I was a bit hot tempered then. Saving the world, fulfilling destiny, all that.”

“Mmmmm…” the ancient dragon’s head canted to the side, one large eye quite plainly perusing her shifting form. It made the weary Dovahkiin increasingly self-conscious, and she brushed at some of the snow gathering on her armor, wondering if she was looking off or something. That was the one downside of hanging out with being older than most conceivable time, that looming weight of ages that seemed to make their thought processes utterly incomprehensible. “And still are I see. Does peace not suit you, Dovahkiin? You have experienced… _Krongrah_ …. Your great victory, and yet you seem so…. Restless.”

This was not something that expected from Paarthurnax, and she was almost frustrated, angry because he was so damned perceptive. The Dragonborn didn’t want to admit it, because damn it, it felt stupid. She should be feeling triumphant, accomplished and ready to retire to the life of a legend. Instead she felt discontent, unfinished, and defeating Alduin had not soothed the feeling. 

Crossing her arms she sighed, finally just sitting down on a rock and letting her head fall back against the wall. “Am I ridiculous? I mean by the Nine, I’ve done everything that fate has dictated, but I can’t help but think this can’t be end. Maybe I’m just a glory hound…”

Hot air blew over her face, ruffling her hair and her nose winkled as the scent of a previously devoured meal came with it. Paarthurnax had scoffed, the old Dovah rustling on his perch, “Do not doubt yourself, Dovahkiin. You are right to feel so discontent. I have a feeling that… _Dez_ … fate has much more in store for you. Though perhaps the weight of ages does not weigh so heavy on your bones, you would think that by now you’d see that… _Unslaad_ ….there are no true endings. You are not done yet, Dovahkiin. I predict that there is much still in store for you, do not fret.”

Somehow the old dovah’s words actually gave her more peace than all the hot meals and quiet days ever had. A tension she hadn’t even fully understood that had been building in her, like steady suffocation seemed to ease, and the Dragonborn let loose one shaky human breath and closed her eyes in quiet pleasure. So she wasn’t simply going insane, or senile in her middle age. 

She had no idea how much tension she’d been carrying, but somehow on that stiff rock with her head against the crumbling wall that Paarthurnax favored so much she fell asleep beneath the shelter of old wings. She awoke warm, but her back stiff from her awkward curl on the rough stone. 

The Dovahkiin groaned, her gaze rolling up with some surprise to see the great looming form of the old Dovah above her, his breath keeping her warm and wings blocking out the harsh Skyrim wind. 

\-----


	2. Chapter 2

The situation made her cheeks color abruptly, and she stumbled to her feet, only to groan as her hand moved back to painfully massage her knotted back. 

“Divines, I’m so sorry Paarthurnax. I can’t believe I just went to sleep like that, and sitting up no less. You could have woken me…” she stumbled over her words, flushing a little darker when the dragon canted his head and she almost felt the weight of his amusement. “But, um… thank you anyway.”

“ _Drem_ … it was no bother, Dovahkiin. There was a weight upon you, and you needed rest. As well, it was good to have the company of another Dovah. Even dragonblooded as you are, you will find that there can only be so much companionship to be had with those who can never understand your true tongue.”

Unsure of what to say to that the Dragonborn just started brushed herself off, picking up her pack and slinging it over her shoulder again. “Well, it was good visiting again, Paarthurnax. I suppose I had better get going. If you’re right I’ve got plenty more destiny left for me, I’d better not keep it waiting.”

Waving goodbye to the old Dovah, she set down the heights of High Hrothgar once more, and her steps didn’t seem nearly so heavy. The walk was long, but refreshingly downhill and when she finally arrived at Ivarstead she found she wasn’t even out of breath. It was a delightful bit of nostalgia walking into the Vilemyr Inn and getting a room, just as she had before she’d first been called to High Hrothgar by the Grey Beards. She remembered the town fondly, the barman having tipped her off to the trouble over in the Nord ruin nearby. Indeed, she’d even killed her first draugr over in Shroud Hearth Barrow. 

The memories made her smile, and she ordered a bottle of Black-Briar mead. Questionable as Maven was, and admittedly she’d found the woman to be –highly- unpleasant, they damn well knew how to make a good mug. Taking a deep swallow of its sweet and bitter flavors, the Dragonborn let the alcohol roll over her tongue and settle warmly in her belly. Setting the bottle back down after a few more swigs, she slipped the gauntlets off her tired hands and looked appraisingly at the barkeep. If she was to get back into action, this seemed as well a place as any. 

“Heard any rumors lately?” 

Oh how those fateful words had led her on many a merry chase, but still somehow she still felt a buzzing excitement every time she said them. 

The barman’s gentle eyes looked over at her as he wiped the dark wood of the bar in a gesture that seemed more idle than purposeful. “None right now. Not after the dragons have calmed.”

Disappointment was like a cold shroud on her shoulders, “oh.”

There was quiet for a moment, as the Dragonborn grabbed her mead again and started to turn back to look at the fire. Then the barman made a thoughtful noise in his throat, “wait… did hear something from a few Khajiit traders passing through this way. Nine, they came in looking mighty ragged. Typically the guards get a little antsy about their kind wandering about within the town, but they seemed in such a bad way, and we made a good amount of coin restoring their wares. If the lot was to be believed, they got caught in an ambush. Some ex-Stormcloaks turned bandits, near the shrine of Akatosh close to the Atronach stone. From what they said the lot have been praying on mers and beastkin that pass that way, no bounty in it though.”

Of course there wasn’t. The thought made fire ache in her gut. That was one thing that had truly bothered her upon coming into Skyrim was their attitude towards their non-human cousins. She may not have been planning on marrying a Khajiit or an Argonian anytime soon, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t sentient beings deserving of respect. 

One of the primary reasons she hadn’t hooked up with Ulfric and his lot was the way he had let the Nord majority abuse the Dunmer living in his city. She’d grinned and bared it at the beginning, but there was only so many times you could hear people yelling “Skyrim for the Nords!” before some very dark thoughts about those implications truly crossed your mind. At least the Thalmor didn’t even pretend to like humans.

The thought of bandits ambushing travelers, any travelers, made her angry. But what was worse was that the surrounding jarls didn’t care enough to even put out a bounty. The Dragonborn took another long swig of her drink, and stood up from her stool. 

Well, she didn’t need a bounty. She had plenty enough gold to last for ten lifetimes, this she was doing for fun. A little something to get back in the swing of things. She flipped the man a spetim, “thanks for the tip.”

\----

It never takes long to spot a bandit camp. If the gruff squabbling and makeshift shelters didn’t cue one to it, the broken wagons and bodies of dead travelers usually gave it away. This time though there was a marked theme in the dead that were quite crudely stowed in a hole that seemed to serve as a mass grave for their victims. Salt and cold kept down the smell, but the shuffling of mudcrabs picking at the bodies made them quickly apparent. The barman’s tales had been correct. They looked to be mostly mer and beastkin piled up, though there could have been others with some of the corpses neigh unrecognizable at this point. She’d killed too many to mourn now, but still it darkened her heart to see such blatant, needless slaughter. 

And it was with no small amount of satisfaction that readied her bow as she crept to a convenient outcropping that afforded a good view of the camp. They were holed up in the remnants of a fort, but it mattered little. The camp was in great disrepair, hardly fit to be called one really. The only thing that stood out was a door snug in the remnants of a wall that seemed to hint at an underground keep or dungeon. 

There was rough bustling, and heavy laughter as the bandits sorted through their spoils. Two of the bodies in the pile had looked relatively fresh, so she was guessing that the group had scored earlier that day. The Dragonborn didn’t spot the chief immediately, but didn’t fret, likely he was in the dungeon, only low level guys and scouts were left watching the camp at night. Of course their vigilance left much to be desired. Good for her, bad for them. 

“You should have heard how that cat yowled when I stuck him good. That fancy magic didn’t help so much with a dagger in his back I’ll tell ya.”

One bandit had dipped their finger in a bowl of glittering powder, liking it up with a satisfied sigh before passing it to the next. Moon sugar. Well, that’d explain their lax security. “But I’ll say they do make some good stuff. Not as quick as skooma, but longer lasting.”

Another bandit scoffed, quite aggressively pushing the bowl away, “see, this is part of the reason we want them out! Look, they’ve got you hooked on their damn drugs! Bad enough our country’s sucking Thalmor cock, now they’ve got you rolling over for beastkin too.”

A scuffle started after that, and the Dragonborn took the opportunity that presented itself. She took the onlookers out first. They were distracted, and never saw the arrow that finally ended their lives. The fight hid the noise as with silent precision the farthest were taken out, then those close to the fire. At last as the combatants lay panting and disoriented they stared at the lifeless bodies of their comrades and she put an arrow in each of their eyes. It was quick, clean, and she didn’t feel the slightest remorse as she surveyed the perimeter once more before walking into the camp. 

Closer up she could see the menagerie of belongings strewn everywhere, loot sorted through and selectively discarded. She kept on guard. Plenty enough times she’d walked into a camp, thinking it was cleared until she stumbled across a bandit still curled up in his bedroll. The resulting melee was never pretty, and the battlefield was no place she liked surprises. 

A lookout was asleep at his post, likely passed out from either drugs or drink. It tempted her to spare the man, to let him wake to the lesson of his dead kinsman. That bitter ache for such vengeance was a temptation, but she’d learned better than to indulge. There would be no loose ends. That lesson had already cost her a friend, it would claim no more. 

The bandit was dead before he woke. 

Contemplating the reinforced wooden door for a moment, the Dovahkiin fished through the pockets of one of the dead brawlers, coming up with a key. As lovely as it was wasting time picking locks, she preferred the more direct approach when possible. She was careful as she pushed open the door, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the contrast of lamps and deeper pools of darkness. She was on alert. Dungeons like this could be a few rooms, or practically labyrinths five levels deep. The only way to tell was to go deeper in. 

\----


	3. Chapter 3

She kept her footing light, glad of the muffle on her boots when she heard shuffling at the bottom of the stairs. The sound of glasses clattering together, accompanied a glow likely resonating from a hearth. 

A scream ripped the silence apart, and the Dovahkiin jumped, thinking herself caught or worse. Her hands withdrew her bow before she was even conscious of the act. The bandits started too at first, then seemed to brush it off and even laugh as they returned to their mead. “Damn elf is bloody loud, gotta tell Vagnir to keep it down in there.”

“We work hard, let him have a little fun. He’ll be finished soon, never lasts long anyway.”

That drew chuckles from them both, “Might pay a visit myself when he’s done. I wonder if the chief’s done questioning that weird one…”

“Oh, after elf ass now too?”

“Hey! I’m just trying to make the most of the bounty Talos gives me!”

The two didn’t get a chance to finish laughing at their joke, as the Dovahkiin walked over their bodies and further into the keep. She paced the hall, opening every door along the way, and clearing them out with as little noise as possible. They had prisoners, and she didn’t want them alerted in case they tried to execute them before she got there. The only hitch came when one of the bandit’s mages was awake when she opened the door. In the resulting scuffle she’d gotten her side singed, but the mage had been too busy casting wards to stop her knife. It was over quickly after that. 

She knew she was nearing the dungeon by the piteous sound of groans and the laughter of bandits. But what stuck out was the tense note of questioning coming from a side room. That had to be chief they had been talking about, interrogating someone, they’d said. 

The room had cages hanging from the ceiling and a few dank cells lining the wall. Pained squeals and huffing moans could be heard from one of the far cells, and the Dragonborn had to force herself to ignore it for now. She had to focus on the room. There weren’t many good ways to approach the dungeon, which seemed a mixture of common room and prison. Quite a few bandits were seated at benches along a long table, another was at an alchemy bench. Of course there was the one in the cell, and another seated beside the hearth. Too many and too close to kill without alerting the others, not to mention the chief which seemed to be in the adjoining room. 

She could shoot an arrow to distract them, but she didn’t want them knowing they were under attack. Hmmm… magicka trickled along her fingers as a detect life spell illuminated the bodies within. She just wanted to be certain. 

They had to be distracted and then dead, and without alerting the chief to their deaths. Then it occurred to her. She’d done it in a pinch before. This was a lot of people for her to try to pull this on, and it could go horribly wrong, but it was even more risky to try and fight them all head on. Dragonborn or not, in a bad place numbers could overwhelm, and she wanted those prisoners alive. 

Before she could think better of the idea the Dragonborn released her voice in not a shout, but a whisper. The taunt caught the attention of all the bandits save the one still with the prisoner in her cell. 

“What’d you say, milkdrinker?” They drew their blades, following the whisper that came from the opposite side of the room. Now the Dovahkiin worked quick, she muffled herself further and cast invisibility, clutching in her sweaty palms a scroll of mass paralysis. She only had one shot at this. 

When they all gathered near the door they thought the noise had come from she had the spell ready. A nova of vivid green washed over the unsuspecting bandits. They all dropped. She only had ten seconds now. 

It was dirty, dirty work, but she didn’t hesitate to dispatch them one after the other. She looked grimly at her soiled gauntlets, but wiped them off onto the rough shirt of one of the fallen bandits before she turned to attend to the man in the cell. 

She was glad the elves, and it looked like one Argonian in the cells appeared to be blindfolded, she doubted they could kept quiet at such a spectacle as that. They’d be freed later, but for now the Dragonborn walked down to the cell on the end, where a triumphant groan marked the end of the rutting bandit’s pleasure. 

The sobbing female elf below was blindfolded too, and the Dovahkiin’s hands tightened on her bow. She’d planned to plant an arrow in his back and move on quickly, but now she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Fat with his stolen pleasures, the man didn’t even notice as she came up behind him. She cast a spell of muffling upon the both of them, and couldn’t help the smile. “You must be Vagnir.”

The man started, but the quiet shout of _Krii Lun Aus_ left him paralyzed in a way that had nothing to do with a spell. A slice to the throat was too good for him, but it did the job. She pulled him off the elf and tossed his body with the others. He died afraid. 

She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but a look at the Bosmer curled up and sobbing on the straw lining the cage made her forget about what remorse she would have felt. She believed in justice and in mercy, but it would not be afforded to those who had given none. Her eyes lingering on the woman in the cell, her heart tugged, but she didn’t have time right now. The chief was still alive, and with the bandits dead and quiet it was easier to hear his snarling questions. 

“The fuck kind of freak are you?” a gruff voice barked. Silence was followed by the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh and a deep male grunt. “Think you’re too good to talk to me, huh? Don’t think I know you elves?! You don’t look like any I’ve seen, but there is something not right about you. Think we want more of your kind here?! Skyrim don’t need any more damn elves!”

The Dovahkiin pressed the door silently open, narrowing her eyes against the brighter light of the more finely furnished chieftain’s room. The chief was standing in a cage, a prisoner bound by wrists with heavy cuffs that rattled against the ceiling bars of the cage. She looked for a second in command, anyone else but it seemed the chief had wanted private time to torture his victim. 

It suited her well enough. Unexpected as it was, a single arrow put him down. When the chief’s body slumped to the floor the bound prisoner began to grumble, growing restless as he seemed to sense the change. Her look over him was brief and clinical, he seemed alright for now. She’d free the others first then come back for him. 

The chief had been good enough to have the cell keys on him, which made it rather convenient to unlock the prisoner’s cages. The first was the Argonian, all of them were bound up as well as blindfolded and gagged, and she took the blindfold off first, and then the gag. The female’s reptilian face at first portrayed fear, but the Dragonborn immediately began to soothe her as she cut her bonds. “I’m not a bandit, I’ve come to set you and the other prisoners free. Your captors are all dead, and the way should be clear. If you’ve need of things loot them on your way out, I’m going to free the others.”

Like that she moved from cell to cell, pausing just a bit at the Bosmer that had been not long ago weeping. She was quiet now, and had actually sat up, apparently having heard her with the others. The Dragonborn shouldn’t have been surprised, elf ears were sharp, and as she untied the blindfold and the coarse rope binding her the Bosmer looked out at the corpse of dear Vagnir and gave her the most brilliant smile. It set the Dovakiin back a bit, but furtively she smiled back, helping the elf woman to her feet when she stood slightly shaky. None of the prisoners paused any further, some took what they needed from the wreckage, but they all left quickly. She supposed she didn’t blame them.


	4. Chapter 4

With the others freed the Dovakiin returned to the cell in which the male prisoner was hanging. He was grumbling now, despite the gag keeping his voice quiet. It made her wonder just what sort of answers the chief was expecting with a prisoner gagged. And the man had indeed been insistent about asking what the bound male was. She hadn’t really thought of it until now, but as she stood directly in front of the open door to that cage, looking at the male strung up within she could actually see why the bandit was confused. The man did look odd, even blindfolded as he was. 

His skin was very pale, more so than even a Nord or a Breton. More white than anything, that would have been odd enough, if not for the hair that was black as an ebony blade and unfashionably long. His ears appeared to be peaked where they poked through the fall of it, but not so much as a regular elf. And the build, it wasn’t right. The body looked tall, taller than she was but not as lithe as mer males. This man had wide, muscular shoulders and a breadth of chest that made him look like he was crossbred with a dremora. Frankly, she was beginning to wonder how the bandits had managed to capture him, because he did not look like a common trader. 

Didn’t have the temperament of one either. She could feel his growing impatience, and at last she cut through the gag and blindfold, taking him in fully for the first time. The bit about being crossed with a dremora held ever more true as she looked at his face. His face was broad, but harshly sculpted and severe, eyes ever so slightly tilted and a red that off a dunmer startled her a bit. Somehow the red eyes framed in thick dark lashes, the other’s gaze boring hard into her had the Dovahkiin very unsettled. She… really wasn’t sure what he was either. 

But his gaze seemed to soften as he looked around, that crimson gaze scanning the room and spotting the bandit chief dead. To that he smiled, and the Dragonborn didn’t know why it struck her as oddly sharp, and a little feral.

“Oh, my thanks,” the voice was deep and dark, and utterly unmistakable. It made the Dragonborn’s blood go cold. 

Before she was even conscious of it her dagger was pressed against his throat, his narrowed gaze glaring into his as she snarled his name, “Alduin.” She didn’t know how, or why, but that voice was totally unique in this world. Its shouts had burned her flesh, pushed her, tried to crush her under a shower of stone and fire… no, she knew who this was, even if nothing about his being in human form made any sense. “You are dead!” she shouted at him, a scream of force that sent the large body crashing against the bars, held up only by the bonds at his wrists. 

The red gaze looking back snarled, but looked frightened and puzzled, “what are you talking about?!” Somehow, impossibly the large man looked frightened, but not so much that he didn’t press further. “What do you know? How do you know me?” 

“How could I not know you? Alduin…World-Eater. You will not get another chance to destroy this world. I killed your dragon form in Sovngarde, and kill the human one here!”

The bound male hissed through his teeth, still reeling from the shock of being slammed against the cage bars. He panted, and while the Dragonborn seethed, she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t even trying to fight back. The Alduin she knew would never take such threats from a human, from anyone. Of course, the Alduin she knew would no doubt rather be vanquished than appear as a human. 

That doubt, it stayed her hand. She readjusted her grip on the blade pressed to the too white flesh, and she watched a sharp line of red well under the cut. She was looking at that small slice, and it drew her eyes to his broad shoulders, to the stark purpling of bruises, then down to more cuts, larger than the ones she’d made. It reminded her that she was here on a rescue. 

“I do not know you, female. And I don’t know how you know me. I…I only remember waking up next to the shrine, I found the road and walked right into these bandits. Before… before I don’t know. Will you tell me?” 

Breath still ragged, her eyes raised up and the red irises of Alduin the World-Eater in human form were staring back at her. Too frustrated and guileless to be feigned. The Dovah she knew was not one for subterfuge, and with an aching sigh at last she pulled her blade away. She hadn’t noticed how tightly she was pressed to him until she felt him release a heavy breath. 

The unfamiliar closeness made her stumble back, frowning hard at the man, even if she knew that logically he’d had no part in it. But now her problem was what to do with him. She was not ready to trust that this… incarnation of Alduin had no ulterior motives. There was no way she could trust him at this point, but she also couldn’t just leave him to languish here. If he truly didn’t remember, if he wasn’t planning anything, she couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. 

“I am going to let you out of the cuffs now. If you do anything, make any moves to threaten my person I will not hesitate to put you down. You were no match for me as a dragon, and you certainly won’t be as a man.” 

The pale man canted his head at her, looking confused but solemn before he nodded, leaning back to give her a bit more space to work. “I mean you no harm, woman. You saved me, I will honor that bond.”

The Dovahkiin frowned at him, but steeled herself anyway. “Good,” she grumbled briefly before she began to work her lockpicks on the cuffs. She’d not found the key on the chief’s person, it was probably in his effects but she didn’t feel like fishing around any longer. 

A metallic click echoed in the room as the cuffs fell away from Alduin’s limbs, and the Dovahkinn quickly stepped back from dragon as she stumbled to his feet. Her hand was already on the hilt of her blade, ready for any hint of treachery. It was actually rather anticlimactic when he only brought his arms down and began to rub the feeling back into his wrists. He also pulled the sliced remains of the blindfold and gag off of his face. 

She actually felt the need to step back further as the human dragon stepped forward from the cage. Bound up, though she had a good view of him, he didn’t look nearly as large, or unsettling as he did when he was not totally at her mercy. That unfashionably long mane was a dead straight black curtain that fell into his face, shadowing his features just enough to make them more stark for the contrast. The pale red of his mouth was twisted downward in discomfort, and he looked thoroughly displeased and frustrated with the whole state of affairs. 

Well, she didn’t like it any better. Human Alduin was a damn sight bigger up close. She didn’t think of herself as a particularly delicate woman, but she was no amazon, and Alduin was as tall as a dremora and built like most elite of them. He loomed when he stood near her easily. It was not comforting. 

Still, she’d not allow her suspicions or discomfort make her forget all principle. It was clear Alduin had been tortured at the hands of those bandits, and many of his cuts were still oozing blood, and the bruises on his body looked dark and ugly on such pale skin. 

“Hold still,” she said impatiently, spreading her hands as they began to glow with golden light. For his part the dragon started a bit, his crimson gaze widening before he looked like wanted to take a step back. He didn’t seem to understand what she meant to do, but she gave him credit, he didn’t run. That stubbornness was one-hundred percent Alduin, and she almost laughed in pure relief for at least something about the situation being familiar. Though she didn’t. 

Instead the Dovahkiin pursed her lips and pushed her magic out to heal his wounds. Unlike destruction magic, which was both exhilarating and mildly painful, restoration was warm, gentle, and damn near intimate. It made her stiffen, feeling the warm glow in her hands as the peaceful patterns of her magicka stroked along his wounds. She felt his body, his aches, his weariness and frustration and the magic sought to soothe them. She kept her face carefully blank as the Dovah gasped, his red eyes looked wild, accusing for a moment before darting abruptly away as he seemed caught between relief and anxiety.


	5. Chapter 5

To be honest she was glad when she could finally end the spell. The Dragonborn knew she’d ended a little abruptly, yanking her magic back to herself to cut off the intimate connection. A groan from Alduin indicated that he must have felt it too. He didn’t say anything though, even if he set that unnerving gaze on her in a way that seemed to signify great affront. She doubted many had pulled away from the great Alduin before he was ready, and even if he did not remember, it was clear certain aspects of his personality were still firmly intact. 

“Thank you for your healing... female. You said that you know me. That my name is Alduin...”

The Dragonborn flexed her hands briefly, trying to work the tingle out, but it did little good. She knew she’d been trying to avoid looking at him, facing the fact that Alduin had returned and she had just spared him. She was increasingly glad that she hadn’t taken a housecarl with her on this little adventure, because she didn’t have the foggiest idea how she would have explained this. “You are Alduin. I don’t know how, and I don’t think I want to know. What matters is that you are the World-Eater, and the oldest of the dragons. I killed you in Sovengarde and now you return as man.”

Those red eyes seemed to contemplate her for a long while, and she refused to fidget underneath their scrutiny. The World-Eater looked at his hands, his body, and he seemed to only dimly understand. Though still when he looked up he was determined, “Say I am who you claim. Say I am Alduin, World-Eater, what now? It is clearly not who I am any longer.”

Again that voice, it filled her head, too great and booming for the body of a mortal man. “I’ve not decided. Not yet.” Her eyes filtered upon the sprawled corpses of bandits. “Well, whatever we do we clearly can’t stay here. You are coming with me, and I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“Fair enough, female. I didn’t have time to think of accommodations before I was paralyzed and taken prisoner by these…bandits. Your plan will be acceptable.”

Condescending tone aside, the arrogant man-dragon’s words brought the Dragonborn come to an awful realization: he was going to be –staying- with her. Divines, she hadn’t even thought of what she was going to do about accommodations… there was no way she was having her arch enemy living with her in Breezehome. 

Who could she talk to about this? There was no way she could discuss it with Delphine. The old Blade would murder her in her sleep if she knew Alduin had returned and she’d left him alive. The Greybeards were also well out. They may not be as quick to kill as Delphine, but they were also slow to act. They had no perspective on practical matters and preferred to contemplate the world instead of belonging to it.

So once again her thoughts turned to Paarthurnax. Of everyone she knew he was one do the few who seemed regretful about Alduin’s passing, but he’d also helped her defeat him. It really made him the only choice. Despite her liking of the old Dovah, the thought of visiting him again so soon made her sigh. One of these days, she was going to have to examine her tendency to keep council with dragons. 

For now she turned around, gesturing Alduin forward. Until she was sure, she wasn’t going to give the World-Eater her back. “You first.” 

\----

Having the bodies of dead bandits all around made her nervous, she may have killed my have killed most, but there was no telling when scouts or a raiding party may return. But unfortunately Alduin did not appear to have much in the way clothes left, and Skyrim was no place to wander in smalls. That left them looting the den for a few supplies before their departure. Not to mention she hadn’t packed expecting to have others to feed, and they were at least two days ride from Ivarstead. 

Despite the Dovah’s looks of interest she immediately nixed any of the sweetrolls or raw cuts of meat lying about the bandit den. She grabbed mostly root vegetables, herbs and salt. Game they could catch on the road if necessary, but wasn’t taking any changes on the dubious roasts the scoundrels had left behind.


End file.
